Caged
by WriteToLive
Summary: Jack...yeah. Dunno what to say. It's very short, just take a couple of minutes to read. Please R&R!


Caged

Desperation welled up inside and threatened to choke him. Walls closed in and bars descended on his consciousness. He was choking and clawing at the restraints, limbs couldn't move to free him. He wanted to fight, wanted to scream and bite and scratch and maim. Wanted to kill. To feel life ebb away under the strength of his grip, to let blood flow from the knife that plunged again and again and drove deeper and deeper until it reached the heart of that which was trapping him here like an animal.

He could hear their voices. They were approaching, weapons at the ready. And he was caged, there was nothing he could do to free himself. He would die here, they would push him to his knees and take away his ability to retaliate. They were cowards who would take no chances.

He wanted to die with dignity. He wanted to die standing and scrapping with every breath left in his body. It couldn't end this way, in a dark corner with a quick bullet. Not after everything he'd been through. It wasn't the way it was supposed to end.

There had been cages before. He remembered the bars in his head that kept him from feeling, once. He had been dead before – dead to every emotion, every vision, every person he saw. He had been a walking corpse that nothing could reach. But he had been saved. Killing and fighting had saved him, one day of action and the bars had shattered under the glorious freedom that came with raising up his arms and reaching for the hands that were there to stop his fall. He had grabbed them and fought. Saved the country, yes. But saved himself too.

They were closer. He could hear someone on a telephone as he paced and twitched, energy bursting through his veins like the drug that had once enslaved him. But this was clean. Pure vitality. How was it that you were most alive just before you died? He'd felt this before. There had been escape routes then though and he'd always managed to find them.

Heroin had tried to bring him down. It had locked him in a sweet embrace, murmured whispers in his ear of numbness and freedom, promises of relief and sustenance. But it had lied and betrayed him, told him want he wanted to hear until he was buried underneath its sinful weight, a ball and chain for his soul. He had succumbed for a while, too weak to throw it off. But he had gathered his strength, and broken that iron too. It had put up a good fight but the memories of his previous victories had given him a steely resolve that smashed the cage to pieces. He had walked free, stronger than ever.

The footsteps were just around the corner. The weapons were being cocked and readied, the knives were sharp and he knew their blades would shine in the moonlight. Shine until they were coated with his thick blood, the blood that was pumping through him now in great waves and making his ears pound, his nerves buzz and every sense stand to rigid attention.

And then there was the one cage into which he had willingly locked himself. That of love. The one thing that he embraced and felt secure in. He had loved and lost, many times over, and it hurt more than anything else. Yet he would keep going back and hope that this time, he would be locked forever into a small space with just one other person. And they would both be safe, because they were there together, hearts entwined and doubled in strength as their beats collided and drowned out all else. Then there would be nothing that they couldn't overcome as one.

But he was on his own, and they were coming. He stifled the scream that tried to rip from his throat, the howl of pent up desperation that was so strong he could taste it. But even that sound wouldn't break this iron, these bars that mocked him. For there was space between them and his hands could touch the freedom of the outside, his eyes gazed upon room to run and fight and walk and sing and dance and love. He could see it but he'd never feel it. The air was dead in here – just as he was. And yet, he had never been more alive.

He could see the guns. They pointed at him from open air. He would not beg. He would not go down on his knees and plead for his life. They were cowards, they shot from the safety of freedom and could walk away. He would die here, caged like the animal he did not deserve to be. All he wanted was to die outside these bars. Then he would taste the greatest freedom of all. But they would taint it, by locking him up and not allowing him to fight.

The guns spat and he fell. As the blackness engulfed the cage and made it shimmer into nothing, all he could think was 'Why are we most alive, just before we die….'


End file.
